


i think i might've inhaled you

by ikvros



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dimilix NSFW Bingo (Fire Emblem), Dirty Talk, Frottage, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Penetrative Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26004619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikvros/pseuds/ikvros
Summary: Felix made his way to the offices: for all his shortcomings, he knew better than to lose his head. There was nothing more useless in battle than a commander who would dally under stress, who could not digest the changing reality of a situation and make decisions around it. Floundering meant death. Cowering meant death.This was not war, but he was almost certain he was an omega—and that he was quickly falling into a very late, very sudden heat.In which Felix finds out he isn’t a beta, Dimitri can’t smell his heat pheromones, and Manuela’s bookshelf sees its last day as a bookshelf.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 18
Kudos: 149
Collections: Dimilix NSFW Bingo





	i think i might've inhaled you

**Author's Note:**

> *tosses this into the void* dimilix nsfw bingo fill for “heat” and “restraint”
> 
> i know that canonically dimitri still has his sense of smell (?) but hehe we’re just gonna pretend. for the sake of horny that he does not thank u
> 
> warnings: dubcon - felix is in heat and cannot truly consent to what is going on. also, while ages are not explicitly referred to, this is academy phase, so please read at your own discretion <3

It began with the ache in his gums. 

No, it had started—before that, before Felix had even risen from bed. He’d overslept; dawn had already broken once he blinked through his grogginess and pulled himself with some reluctance from the warmth of the duvet.

There were the strangest, slightest tremors of cold, a weight to his limbs that threw him off-kilter as he dressed. His fingers had been clumsy. He’d missed a button, a lock of hair at the nape of his neck. He had the momentary but fierce thought that he did not want to leave the dormitory—that he wanted to shed his uniform and crawl back into bed, to sleep for minutes or hours more. He might have been coming down with something, he thought, but it would take more than a cold to make him waste the day away.

The ache in his gums set in during breakfast—toasted bread and some sort of savory Albinean jam that was all he could conceive to eat without exacerbating the nausea that had come over him as soon as he entered the dining hall. The toughness of the bread was at once a relief and a thorn in his side; every time he took a bite, there was a second of reprieve from the pain before it would pulse again, echoing through his jaw in its entirety.

“Are you okay?” 

It was Annette, the only other person who’d so far joined his table. Felix looked at her, and then back down at the leftover crusts on his plate.

“Fine,” he said, holding fingers to his cheek with light pressure. “I think I have a cavity or something.”

“Let me see.”

“I have food in my mouth, Annette.”

Annette made a face at him. “Just open up, will you? Maybe I can help.”

Felix was resigned. He sighed and rolled his eyes, but he opened his mouth, and tried not to breathe on Annette as she leaned in and peered inside.

“Hmm,” she hummed after a moment. “I don’t _see_ anything out of the ordinary. Your teeth look pretty healthy—oh, weird. They’re all so…flat. How do you bite things?”

 _“Anne-tte.”_

“Sorry. Where’s the pain at, exactly?”

“Et’s erry-erre.”

“Huh?”

Felix closed his mouth and frowned at her. “It’s—not in a single spot. It’s my entire mouth.”

“That doesn’t really sound like a cavity,” Annette pointed out. Then she grimaced. “Unless you have a bunch of them. That would be awful.”

“I think I’ll see a dentist,” Felix said with a wry smile. “But thank you for your help.”

“I could use some magic, y’know, to help with the pain?”

“I think there is something you could do for me.” The concern on her face was so genuine that Felix almost felt bad about what he said next. Almost. “Sing me a song? Maybe you have one about oral hygiene. You know, proper brushing, and what happens if you don’t—” 

“Felix!” Annette squeaked. “I don’t have a song about teeth!”

“No? Maybe you should write one. Or you could sing the one about swamp beasties again.”

Annette gasped, then wrinkled her nose at him. Her cheeks were pink. “Breakfast is over!” she declared, and promptly rose from the table with her plate. She didn’t look back at him as she made her hurried way toward the kitchen.

Felix leaned his chin into his palm, amused, and briefly forgot his discomfort.

* * *

He spent the morning pulling weeds with Sylvain. The lethargy had subsided now that he was up and about, as if admitting its defeat—tending the garden was hardly labor, though, and as they tossed the last of the weeds into the compost pile, Felix found himself growing quite restless. There was an itch under his skin that spurred him to move, and a weight to Sylvain’s gaze as he wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. He had been unusually quiet all morning.

“What?” Felix demanded. Sylvain opened his mouth, and then closed it. He pressed his lips into a line. Felix raised his eyebrows. “Well? Speak.”

“You smell…weird, Felix,” he said finally. Felix scowled and lifted his arm to check. “No, not—you don’t stink. But your scent is…”

“I don’t have a _scent,”_ Felix said, bristling. He never had—from young, he’d been a beta, the only one in his noble line. Sylvain knew that. 

“Not usually.” His brows knitted. “It’s subtle, but it’s…” Sylvain came closer. Three steps forward, nose lifted. Scenting, Felix realized, and couldn’t move. He watched Sylvain’s nostrils flare. “It smells like…”

Closer still, until he could lean in. Sylvain’s nose was nearly touching his neck, now. There was nothing more Felix wanted to do than to shove him out of his personal space, to thoroughly reprimand him for the overstep, but he was frozen—he couldn’t even find it in himself to flinch away. He was dimly aware of the huffing at his flat gland, the heavy note of warmth that washed through Sylvain’s scent, deepening what was usually a mild, pleasant spice. It was the proximity, surely. Alpha pheromones were bound to be more potent when inhaled at the source.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he managed, finally.

“Felix.” It was low, rumbly. Warmth furled in Felix’s stomach, and anxiety bloomed all the way up his ribcage. “Are you sure you’re a beta?”

Felix’s breath hitched. He shoved Sylvain away with a spike of alarm, ears ringing with sound and heat.

“I think we’d both know if I wasn’t,” he snapped. “Keep your nose to yourself.”

“Maybe you should see Professor Manuela,” Sylvain said. His eyes were soft, his voice placating. His shoulders were slightly hunched, head lowered, and Felix realized all at once that his own teeth were bared.

“Mind your own damn business,” Felix said, and willed his face to relax. He was just on edge—and Sylvain was talented at pulling out _everyone’s_ aggressive instincts.

“Hey, it could be nothing. But it doesn’t smell like nothing, Fe. What if you’re—”

“Not possible.” And it wasn’t. Presentations beyond childhood were unheard of, false as fable. Perhaps Annette’s omegan scent had rubbed off on him, and that’s what Sylvain had picked up on. Nevermind that Felix could detect no hint of her distinct citrusy florals himself, or that they’d have long faded by now, anyway. 

“What if it is? You’re gonna risk it?”

“There’s nothing to risk.”

“Look, I’m telling you, it smells exactly like—” 

“Fine,” Felix said quickly.“I’ll stop by her office before the end of the day. Happy?” 

Sylvain didn’t look happy, or even entirely convinced that Felix meant it—but he knew better by now than to push. “You know yourself best,” he said. “Just—better safe than sorry, yeah?”

“Whatever. I’m going to train.”

“I can—”

“Alone,” Felix said, turning. “You’re irritating my nose.” And his ears. And the warmth that prickled now beneath his skin, swelling and receding like water. 

It was strange—there was a part of him that wanted Sylvain to come along. But it did not feel like the part of him that wanted to fight, and he knew better than to trust it.

* * *

He’d made a deal with himself: if he still felt strange by the end of the day, then he would follow through with his visit to Manuela. It was based on the assumption that he would _make_ it to the end of the day before the itch under his skin became altogether unbearable. 

But he’d trained straight through the professor’s daily lecture, and felt that his heart rate had not significantly decreased since he left the grounds. His stomach cramped as if in hunger, but the thought of eating anything made him want to heave. The pain in his gums had gone from aching and pulsing to sharp and insistent—his fingers were pruned now from prodding at them. Something was wrong, and the smell was worse, if the lingering stares from passing students were any indication. 

Felix made his way to the offices: for all his shortcomings, he knew better than to lose his head. There was nothing more useless in battle than a commander who would dally under stress, who could not digest the changing reality of a situation and make decisions around it. Floundering meant death. Cowering meant death.

This was not war, but he was almost certain he was an omega—and that he was quickly falling into a very late, very sudden heat. Going to Manuela, he decided, as the first gush of slick wet his pants as he hauled himself up the stairs, had been the right choice, with not a moment to spare.

Felix did not know what he was in for once he arrived, but he hadn’t expected the place to be empty.

His mind raced. Of course Manuela had other duties; he should have gone straight to the infirmary. But it had not been _this_ bad a few minutes ago—the cramping in his stomach all but doubled him over, now. He sincerely doubted that he could make it across the monastery grounds like this.

His ears perked. There was the sound of boots against stone—not those telltale heels, their distinct clacking. They were too heavy. Manuela wasn’t here. But of course, that didn’t mean he was alone.

“Felix…?”

“By the Goddess,” Felix said. “Of course it’s you.” The last person in the world he wanted to know, or to see. Dimitri stood in the doorway of Manuela’s office, concern written all over his face.

“Are you alright?”

“Get away from me, Boar,” Felix growled. His teeth were bared; his gums ached and stung—it felt as though his teeth were trying to tear straight through them. He was backed up against the bookshelf like cornered prey.

“Oh, you—you’re in heat,” Dimitri breathed, like that knowledge was just washing over him. “You’re an omega.”

Felix sneered despite himself. “Oh? What gave it away?”

“I—your pheromones, I can’t detect them myself—”

Felix blinked through his confusion. “You can’t smell me?” 

“No. I was in the library—I overheard some students say—but I did not thinkitwouldbeyou.” His voice ran together at the end, quieted, like he was only now realizing the situation he’d found himself in.

This was bad. It had been bad, Felix realized, from the moment he left the training grounds. There was no telling how heavily his heat pheromones were laced through his sweat. He might as well have bathed in them, and shouted from every balcony that he was in heat. If the scent of it had spread to the library, there wasn’t a corridor on this level that wouldn’t lead someone here by the nose.

“I’ll get—”

“No,” Felix gasped. It came out of him before he could stop it.

“But—”

“Escort me to the infirmary,” he panted. “You’re no threat to me without your nose.”

“…I would not say that’s entirely the case,” Dimitri said.

“Fine. Leave, then.” It was the first test. Dimitri did not leave. His eyes, wide as saucers, did not leave him for even a second. “I’ll be knotted by the time you return.”

It was not true—probably. There were few students here at this time of day, and even fewer alphas. And he was still coherent enough to tear out a throat, should the need arise.

But Dimitri said, “Alright. I’ll escort you,” in that unnervingly polite and measured voice, the one he always used when he spoke of responsibility. He moved forward, shoulders stiff. “Can you…?” 

“Give me a second,” Felix said, leaning away from the bookshelf. “I can walk on my own, I just—” He took a step, and nearly went to his knees.

“Felix?”

“Ngh— _shit.”_ It came out a moan. He held himself up with a single hand against the bookshelf, fingers slick over the wood. Dimitri moved forward, and his scent hit Felix like a wall. 

“Don’t!” He yelled, alarmed. Dimitri halted. “Don’t touch me. What are you thinking?”

Dimitri was looking down at his own extended hands, frozen where they reached out. “My apologies, I—I don’t know what came over me.”

“Get ahold of yourself,” Felix snapped, like he wasn’t half-leaning on the bookshelf for support, like slick wasn’t dripping down his legs through his trousers. Like he did not want to be fucked within an inch of his life, like he was not holding down the urge with control that felt threadbare.

“I’m trying.” That measured voice again. Dimitri swallowed. “But seeing you like this is. Difficult. Knowing you’re in pain, knowing why. It has some effect, Felix. Did you think it wouldn’t?”

“What are you saying?” he panted. “You want to fuck me because I’m _suffering?”_

Dimitri drew in a sharp breath. “I…”

“Don’t deny it. You smell like…” A storm, he thought. Earth before rain, but not nearly as calm. Like the Levin Sword a moment before it unleashed, the barest, sharpest second before the crackle of lightning magic. A ledge before the unknown, something dangerous that beckoned, and loomed.

“Why do you _smell like that,”_ he moaned. It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe in a single lungful of air that wasn’t saturated with Dimitri’s scent, wet and potent.

“I do not know what I smell like,” Dimitri said calmly. He was very still. His pupils were huge, dark things. “I cannot remember, exactly.”

Felix could. He recalled this. A vague memory from the palace, the year Dimitri had presented. The door to his rooms was supposed to be sealed and scent-proofed, but that had not been the case, not entirely. Even with his dulled nose he could smell it down the hall, the intensity of it, the carnal call of rut, just bloomed. 

He had been a beta back then—no, simply unpresented. It had not affected him all those years ago, not like this.

“What is...Your Highness? Felix?!”

Everything happened at once, then.

Dimitri, who had been holding himself still, whirled with startling speed and force toward the office door. There was a noise—vicious and blood-cooling, a growl so loud and deep that it made the hair on the back of Felix’s neck stand up. He had the insistent urge to keep his eyes on the floor. His knees nearly gave way—the bookshelf was the only thing keeping him on his feet. It was Dimitri, he realized, who’d made it.

“Stay back!” Felix yelled. He forced his eyes up to the door, and found Ashe over Dimitri’s shoulder, wide-eyed and still.

“Felix,” Ashe said, “you’re…”

“Heat,” he said weakly. As if there was any other conclusion to draw. The air was thick with the smell of heat, of slick, of heady alphan rut pheromones turning sour with warning. Ashe was a beta, but even if he hadn’t smelled it—what they must have looked like. What it all must have looked like. Things like this didn’t just _happen._

“Your Highness…” Ashe’s voice was plaintive. He took a step forward. “You shouldn’t be…”

Dimitri’s entire body went tense. The quieted growl in his chest rumbled to life. He was poised to lunge.

“Don’t! He’ll kill you without blinking. I can handle myself,” Felix said. “Find. Manuela. Now.”

Ashe did not look convinced that Dimitri could be _handled_ —but what choice did they all have? Dimitri was not here. Before them both stood a very dangerous, very unreasonable animal, and as the jewel rather than the thief, Felix was the only one who stood a chance of fending him off.

“I—I’ll find her,” Ashe said. He spared one last, wide-eyed look at Felix. “I’ll be back as soon as I can!”

He turned and hurried through the door, and Felix felt his own body sag with relief when Dimitri didn’t try to follow.

It was short-lived. Dimitri turned, and Felix flattened himself against the bookshelf in repulsive, hapless instinct. Another gush of slick came out of him as he took in the sight—Dimitri’s eyes, so dark he could not find the blue in them. The threatening curl of his lip, the white gleam of a large incisor, shown off. He could tear someone limb from limb with his teeth alone—would, in fact, if they came between him and his omega.

 _Not his,_ Felix thought. Never his. But his body opened to the idea like a flower.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he found two arms bracketing him against the bookshelf, rut-scent so concentrated it made his head spin.

“Boar,” he said, head tilting back against the wood. His vision was blurry. His chest was heaving. “Control yourself.”

“I want to mate you.” Dimitri did not sound human.

“No.”

 _Yes,_ his omega said.

“I want to bury myself inside you and fuck you full.”

_Yes._

“No,” he said, shuddering, and his body reminded him of how empty he was, wet hole clenching with nothing inside, stomach cramping anew. He wanted—

“To fuck you until you’re begging for my spend, to keep you on my knot for days. To mark you, so that everyone knows—” 

“You _can’t.”_

“I know!” A hand slammed into the bookshelf beside his head, and the distinct sound of splintering wood groaned all the way down to the floor. Felix was vaguely aware of falling books, their hardcovers thumping against the rug. His eyes were caught on the gleam of Dimitri’s teeth, bared in full. Felix hadn’t realized how well-hidden Dimitri usually kept them, that it had ever been a conscious effort, one he did not—could not—make now.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” Dimitri said.

Felix felt the distinct jut of a hard cock against his hip.

“I can wager a guess,” he said.

“Hah—you—think to provoke me, even like this.”

“You want an omega that would fall at your feet? How utterly predictable.”

“I only want you.”

“Yes, that would be the rut talking, you stupid beast. You want a wet hole to knot.”

“No,” Dimitri said. “Only you.” 

Felix said, “Too bad,” but he was out of his mind with something that felt a whole lot like surrender. He felt Dimitri’s hot breath on his neck, and shivered. His own cock was so hard that the slightest touch would send him reeling off the edge, he was sure. He didn’t know how he was still standing. He wanted nothing more than to turn and let Dimitri have his way right there against the bookshelf, through his clothing and all.

The thought brought a strangled moan with it. A pulse of arousal, bright and so much more appealing to give into than this droning fear and uncertainty, the regret he knew waited for him on the other side of it. There was a sudden pressure on his cock, and he jerked into it, gasping. It was not his own hand. It was not Dimitri’s, either. He looked down and found a thigh between his legs, warm and firm beneath well-tailored trousers. It was—an offering.

“I will not touch you,” Dimitri said. He sounded pained. “But—Felix, please.”

_Knowing you’re in pain, knowing why. It has some effect._

“You want me to _use_ you?” he said, but he was already grinding against Dimitri’s thigh, hips jerking in desperate little thrusts against the heat. It was not enough.

“I want to see you come.”

“Fuck. Keep talking.” Felix’s hands slipped against the bookshelf. He couldn’t—wouldn’t touch Dimitri, either. Except for where it mattered. 

“I want to watch you fall apart. How could you have ever fooled me? Look at you. Perfect omega.” That rainstorm scent deepened; grew so wet with desire that Felix could taste it. He was fucking himself relentlessly now agaisnt Dimitri’s thigh, soaking them both with his slick. He recalled, fuzzily, that Dimtiri could not smell any of this. Perhaps it was all that held him back. “You’re incredible. So good for me, you’d look so beautiful with me inside you.”

“No,” Felix whined, but Goddess did he want it.

“Yes,” Dimitri growled. “So pretty on my knot, filled with my seed—”

“Harder,” Felix gasped, and Dimitri’s thigh pressed insistently in, until the pressure was nearly painful, until he could do no more than rut in short, aborted little jerks, like a desperate, writhing animal. That’s what he was, no better than Dimitri in this state. This was instinct, sure and strong, flowing through them both like magic. He had never wanted this for himself—this pathetic, all-consuming desire to— 

“Fuck, fuck, I’m—”

There was a horrible noise. The bookshelf shook, groaned, and snapped. The shelf above his head split completely, and books rained down around him. Dimitri cocooned himself above Felix’s head, protective, and it was that, he knew, that sent him off the precipice. He came with a wet sob, pleasure and pain entwined in every dull pulse of orgasm. 

It was not what his body wanted, not even close. The relief was minimal; it had done more to work him up than give him any amount of repose. He fisted a single hand at the front of Dimitri’s jacket. 

“Boar,” he croaked. He forced his eyes open. Dimitri was staring down at him with dark, primal hunger. Felix had fought them both off for as long as he could, but he was only human. He could forgive himself for this, he was sure. “I want…”

Dimitri’s eyes rolled very suddenly back into his head. It was startling, the mass of him around and above, collapsing like a sack of bricks to the ground, taking with him the splinters of the bookshelf he held onto. Felix watched in wide-eyed surprise, blinking down at his unconscious face. The smell of rut receded at once—a low, simmering note now instead of overpowering fume. There was the distinct scent of magic on the air.

“Oh my.” Felix’s head whipped up. Professor Manuela stood in the doorway, one hand held out to cast. She had put Dimitri to sleep. She said, frowning, “That bookshelf was an antique.”

**Author's Note:**

> and then felix spends the rest of his heat fucking himself on a knotted toy thinking of nothing but dimitri...the end
> 
> (thank you for reading!!! find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ikvros)!)


End file.
